


salted skin

by fineosaur



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst and Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, a n g s t, atonement au, just gonna pepper in the fact that i love atonement, title from 'salted skin' - handkerchief thief, you don’t have to have read/watched atonement to read!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineosaur/pseuds/fineosaur
Summary: in the summer of 1935, one day changes everything for Arya and Gendry. despite false accusations and a war between them, they promise to return to one another.indefinite hiatusa gendrya atonement au
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 46
Kudos: 76





	1. first glimpse of paradise

Her earliest memories would always be hazy; forgotten words, people, places. There was one thing that she would always remember, was how the flowers looked, how the sun shone. She had remembered running after Jon, past the glistening fountain and tripping over her own feet. She couldn’t remember if it hurt, she did remember Jon’s face, looking a bit more worried than usual. She remembered being placed on the edge of the fountain before Jon disappeared, then it goes blurry, until she can remember holding his hand as they followed the path towards the creek, along the path were the wildflowers. She remembered how she smelled the flowers, pulling at them until she’d managed to pluck them off the stem. It’s not clear if her brother remembers the memory as she does, as she did, either way, she’d never brought it up. Part of her always linked that day to her habit of picking wildflowers, ones she’d always pick for her father who’d keep them in his study until they wilted and browned. The purple asters were her favourite, if she could, she’d wish to be near the creek, just listening to the sounds of the trickling waters, the chirps of birds, just maybe remain amongst the wildflowers a little longer and the tenor they provided.

When she got older though, she remembered finding herself often walking towards the same path to find comfort. Down the hallway from her room, left towards the staircase, her steps muffled by the carpet that sat upon the wooden floorboards, when she’d continue left until she reached her father’s study, but she’d turn right, into the library opposite his large oak door. The shelves were as tall as the high ceilings, light would filter through the similarly tall, diamond-paned windows on the adjacent wall. The library was still as comforting to her, not as arcane as she had thought it to be when she was younger, but the smell of the aged pages of the books still managed to calm her racing heart whenever she needed. 

One memory she couldn’t remember was meeting him. He was just always t _here_ . She remembered often finding him by the creek as well though. He’d sit by the water hovering a hand by the rushing water until he noticed her presence and would smile at her. This ended up becoming their summer routine, meeting by the creek, picking flowers and basking in the sun’s warmth. She came to enjoy watching him swirl a finger in the tepid water until he’d hear her. She’d always remember him though, _she’d always remember Gendry._

She remembered her first kiss. One time instead of handing her a flower for the bouquet she was forming, Gendry placed it behind her ear, hand lingering by her face. She remembered the depth of his eyes, the blue she would find herself almost drowning in. His gaze had brought a warmth different to the one the sun provided and his kiss washed over her, tingling every sense she had and those she hadn’t known she had. His kiss was soft and petaled like the flowers in her hands. He had used his hand to tilt her chin slightly before leaning in. From then on, summers had brought her brothers home from university, the blossoming of the asters, and hidden kisses shared with the charlady’s ebony-haired son.

Arya sat by her window, watching the field below, the fountain centred amongst the grass, the water looking still as the world passed by vacantly. Summer had come, but it hadn’t revived the ebullience she often felt at the thought of seeing her brothers again, at the feeling of the sun’s rays against her skin, or even the feeling of Gendry’s lips on hers. It would be a lie if she told herself she wasn’t sure what the cause of her weariness or despondence was. She knew her reasons lied with a particular man. With _Gendry_ , she was disappointed when she came to the realisation that it was a particular sable haired man who came to mind, sun catching his clear blue eyes, in her dreams, the fountain on their property had water that deep and blue, but only in her dreams. It was because reality would set in, summers would no longer be their time. The time they would steal together when no one would notice their absence and when winter came, glances of him would not thaw the ice that winter brought to Winterfell. He was leaving, and the ice would be the only memory she’d have of his eyes.

Arya let her eyes follow the horizon, she fingered the neatly rolled cigarette in her hand, holding it gently between her lips as she flicked her lighter a few times, inhaling deeply before tossing the lighter aside. It was about midday, she watched the expanse of land out from the window, the flowers she knew that grew near the creek, the outside always called to her, particularly on a day such as this. 

There was this odd, stifling feeling about that day, summer was never sweltering in Winterfell, but there were things on her mind that made it feel so. Exhaling her drag, watching the smoke come out in a long spiralling cloud, whisked away by the breeze that came through the window. Arya thought of her brothers, smiling at the thought of seeing them, but then her thoughts wandered to him, _to Gendry_. He’d be leaving too, at the end of the summer; her brothers would leave, and so would he.

She thought of their kisses, the near misses, the what could have beens, and known them all to be inconsequential. She found herself furious with him and his longing stares, his shoulders and the way he ran his hands through his inky hair without even realising it. Arya got up, stubbed the half-smoked fag in an ashtray, her eyes catching the mirror on the mantle. She stared at her reflection, tucking her hair behind her ear, only to have it fall right back into her eyes, sighing, she made her way to the gardens, in search for some flowers. 

* * *

The breeze easily picked up her skirt as she wandered the beaten path she knew to hold her favourite flowers. She enjoyed the freedom the skirt gave her, just as much as she enjoyed the feeling of the grass between her toes. Given that it was still morning, the grass was cool with dew. Arya chose to forget her worries. She was returning to school herself, along with her older brothers. Over the last three years, she had attended the same school her brothers had in the Eyrie, visiting Winterfell every chance she could, knowing _he_ would be there.

Arya held her hand out, feeling the soft petals and leaves against the palm of her hand. She chose the few that stood out the most to her, the ones that hadn’t completely bloom yet, but were her favourites. She gathered the ones she chose in her hand, taking her time to savour the brisk wind that cooled against the perspiration caused by the sun as she continued to sway along with the blades of grass.

* * *

Her figure returned into view, only a few minutes passed since she had disappeared inside the walls of the manor. His eyes had grown into the habit of following her, _an unconscious habit_. Things had been tense between the two of them for a while now; he never seemed to be able to meet her eyes without seeing her frown. He had tried to inquire as to why he was being treated so coolly, yet he had never been allowed to say two words without her shutting him down entirely. So he had given up. But now, he would talk to her again, if it were the last thing he was to do because he was leaving, and who knew if they really ever would meet again. There was nothing left for him to come back to after all.

The wind tugged on her clothing as she moved, she didn’t seem to realise that he was eyeing her. In her arms, an ornate vase delicately held, within it _wildflowers_ , Gendry couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He watched her chestnut hair bounce as she descended the few steps down the entrance. Arya looked completely at ease, breathing in the silky mid-morning air, until she spotted him, leaning against one of the many stone columns that decorated the entrance to the family home. She visibly tensed at the sight of him with his rolling paper in hand. Her shoulders going rigid, her grip around the vase tightening, as did the frown that plastered her face once more.

She said nothing as she walked past him, hurrying her once relaxed gait. He followed her, carefully licking down the cigarette in his hand before offering it to her, hoping this were an opening to a conversation between them.

“Care for a smoke?” 

At his offer, she turned slightly to eye the cigarette he was handing her. She still refused to speak, spinning on her heel to face him. He placed the cigarette between her lips, her _sweet pink lips_ and shielded the flame from his lighter when she leaned down to accept his light. She straightened her posture once more, this time not looking away from his eyes, grey of hers vibrant in the light of day, only to be shielded by the drag she exhaled, which slowly blew with the direction of the wind. 

She continued staring at him for a moment, balancing the large vase in her right arm against her hip before using her other to withdraw the cigarette from her lips, releasing another plume of smoke. “I’ve heard you’re leaving,” she stated simply, a bite in her tone that ached through him as she turned away from him and began descending the cascading stone steps towards the back lawn. 

“Oh, you’re talking to me now, are you?” Gendry countered, her voice rang through his ears, more pleasant than the sounds of rain and rushing water.

Arya glared at him over her shoulder and continued her descent, hair bouncing with every step. He loved the brown waves of her hair and how it cut off at her jawline, framing the long, angular features of her face. “Medicine is it?” She questioned, clearly well informed on his studies. 

“Is that all you want to ask me then?” Gendry inquired, his own cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers, forgotten as his focus centred on the hot-tempered woman beside him. “What if I have questions for you?”

“Such as?”

He found himself growing infuriated at her blunt questions and the neutrality in her tone. “Perhaps I’d like to address the fact that you’ve been ignoring me and I might even say, avoiding me, for the last month or so,” her determined steps faltered with every word he said, he watched as she fought the urge to look back at him. “Arya, please, just talk to me.”

“Why don’t you?” Arya’s voice had risen slightly, he could see the anger in her features as she turned to him, his steps coming to a halt as well. He watched as her grip on the vase tightened, knuckles protruding against her grasp. “Why is it that I find out you’re leaving through my father?” She took a stride closer to him, he could smell the light fragrance of the asters as her face neared, centimetres away.

“I-“ he started, unsure how to articulate his words when put on the spot as such. 

“That’s what I thought,” she responded with a tight-lipped smile, turning away and beginning her trek on the lawn, her strides curt and forceful on the lush sea of grass that spread throughout the garden which was at least 4 times the area of his own home he had shared with his mother. 

He continued following her, he was not about to let her be stubborn all on her lonesome. “Arya, just listen,” he told her as he jogged behind her.

Arya sat on the edge of the fountain, the one that glistened in the sun, the water always still, the hydrophytes on the surface added to the unsteadily frozen look it often seemed to have. She placed the vase gently beside her and looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed at his encroachment. 

“What is it?” She bit, her tone leaving no room to interpret whether she was feeling anything other than anger towards him. 

Gendry chose to sit on the fountain’s edge as well, vase still balanced between them. When his silence permeated their tension, she looked away, as if her patience had already run thin. After she removed the flowers from the vase, she began lifting it to fill it with water. His hand reached out to one of the handles, the surface smooth and warm from the heat of the sun. 

“Let me help you,” he offered. Arya only pulled the vase towards herself, trying to loosen it from his grasp. 

“I can do it myself.”

“Yeah, but you’ll get yourself wet,” he warned her, her tone suddenly catching onto his, “we wouldn’t want that now, would we, milady?”

Knowing he’d hit a nerve, his grip remained tight on the vase as she tried to pull away, not anticipating the frailty of the ornamental vase. He heard her gasp as she fell back onto the fountain’s edge and the crack that indicated the breaking apart of the vase, a piece of it falling in the fountain behind her with a shallow splash. Gendry stepped away, watching her fury heighten. He could tell her anger wasn’t pointed at the vase he had a hand in breaking, but with him in particular and for reasons other than the sudden rupture. 

“You- Gods, could you really be so stupid?” Arya told him off, it was hard to keep a straight face whilst she fumed. 

“Arya look, let me just get it,” he suggested between chuckles, broken off handle in his hand being used to gesticulate his words, “and then we can talk.”

“I told you, I can do it myself,” she retorted, taking a step towards him, reaching towards the handle in his grasp. 

“Watch it!” Gendry’s voice came out in a deep bellow as he tried to warn her of the broken pieces by her feet. His raised voice just seemed to infuriate her further. “I’m sorry, let me get it for you.” 

“Piss off, Gendry,” she swore, tearing at her clothes hurriedly, “ _I told you, I can do it myself._ ”

“You’re just being ridiculous,” he laughed lightly, turning his head slightly at the sight of her getting undressed. His grip on the handle tightening as the thought of her skin underneath her clothes came to mind.

Gendry wasn’t surprised that she’d go to such lengths to counter him. He distinctly wasn’t surprised that she would strip, next to naked, in front of him, on a July morning; she was impulsive, he knew this. Part of him wondered whether she had completely thought her actions through, but then again, she was impulsive. Forethought was not one of her strong points in a situation like this, where the both of them were in the middle of facing off their obstinacy.

“Arya, come on.” Gendry tried again, only to be met with the sound of her sinking into the water. His feet took him closer towards the fountain.

She was under for a good few moments, within that time, Gendry had only managed to let himself watch the hypnotic ripples spread across the surface of the water. When she finally resurfaced, he was for once today, caught by surprise. 

Arya’s glistening figure balanced on the fountain’s edge, barely a breath away from him. Water travelled down her body in rivulets, her pale skin seemed to shimmer, in the sun’s glare.

If he were to come up with an excuse as to why he stared at her for so long, far too long to be considered appropriate, he’d say that he was taken aback by her sudden appearance. But he could hardly fool himself. She stood there, in vacant shock as he looked up at her, he was rarely ever the one to have to look up at her. The shift she wore clung to her like a second skin, leaving little room for imagination. He could see the smooth skin of her thighs, waiting to be touched, her heaving chest and her breasts, pebbled from the breeze that rolled in.

Gendry looked away, finally seeming to gain his senses, despite all his blood that rushed south. He gripped the handle in his hand so tightly, he was sure it would shatter at any moment. As she redressed herself, he could hear her huff in anger, yet all he could do was try not to think of what he had just seen. His gaze focused on the ground, at the boots on his feet, his thumb worrying the porcelain thin.

When she, surely intentionally, brushed past him in a hurried walk, Gendry turned to watch her leave. He found himself unable to articulate any of the words that had played through his mind continuously, that he had been wanting to say to her for a while now. As she walked away, broken vase in hand, he walked backwards to sit on the fountain’s edge. 

_He hated to have her leave, still, he could appreciate how heavenly she looked as she walked away from him._

Gendry sighed, turning his gaze to the now still water of the fountain, he closed his eyes, unsure if he wanted to savour the moment or forget it. 

* * *

Her mind was still reeling. Her anger danced alongside her humiliation. Once again, her impulsivity had gotten the best of her, her mother often reminded her that she acted foolishly in the face of her own fury, and as much as she hated admitting so, _her mother was right._

Arya had shoved her soaked clothed aside, choosing to stay in her dressing gown until she stirred up the courage to dress. Jon, Robb and Theon were still coming today, she’d need to be ready to greet them, happily, rather than the current state she seemed to find herself in.

Her cigarette was held loosely between her lips as she painted her nails a piercing red. As much as she tried though, her hands would not stop trembling. She placed the pungent polish aside and leaning back against her chair let her senses be filled with the smoke instead.

“Your hair’s wet, have you been swimming already?” Arya saw past her fumes, instead seeing the fiery hair of her older sister. Sansa looked prim as always, her hands were folded behind her back as she looked around Arya’s messy room disapprovingly.

“Of course not, you know we always wait for the boys to go down to the lake.”

Arya tried her best to school her emotions around Sansa, especially in a moment like this. She watched as her sister continued pacing around her room, eyes landing on the pile of wet clothes on the floor.

“So, where are Bran and Rickon?” Arya tried distracting her.

“Somewhere with mum, they seemed to be bothering dad about something,” Sansa gingerly took a seat on her unmade bed. “Did you hear about Gendry?”

Arya picked up the bottle again, applying another coat of red on an already painted toenail. “I don’t follow, what about Gendry?” She tried her best to concentrate on her feet, trying to ignore the heart pounding in her chest.

“He’s leaving, didn’t he tell you?” There was a beat of silence, as Sansa awaited her answer and Arya tried to figure out how to do so. “Do you two not talk anymore? You both used to be awfully close, a bit too close if you ask me.”

“We drifted apart you see,” Arya was thankful for the steadiness she managed in her voice. She stood up to stare out the window, not wanting to be faced with her prying sister any longer. She took another drag before exhaling it to answer, “Leaving to where?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know, I don’t quite bother with his things.”

Arya glanced back at her sister, watching as the red-haired girl stared at her nails, frown evident from the lines on her forehead. 

“I saw Robb’s car coming in, that’s what I came here to tell you,” Sansa stood up, patting down her skirt before making her way out of the room, “so do try to look nice, your hair is a mess.”

Rolling her eyes, Arya huffed, throwing herself back onto her chair. Her sister continued to test her patience, especially when it came to Gendry. _‘Don’t play with the servant boy Arya’, ‘fix your hair Arya’,_ to this day, there were times her sister’s voice wouldn’t leave her head.

Arya thought of her brothers’ faces and decided to postpone her wallowing to when she had time for it. She stubbed her fag and got up to put a dress on, to greet them; there was no time for stuffy pants in the summer, not when she could feel the breeze pick up her skirt and graze her legs.

Once ready, she stopped by her mirror, eyes focused on her hair, her still damp hair which never seemed to stay in place where she needed it. Arya tucked locks on either side behind her ears, only to have some still fall back into her eyes. 

With renewed energy, Arya made her way to the drawing-room. Before entering she could already hear laughter and the clink of glass. She approached, to see Robb playfully shove Theon as Jon shook his head at them, smiling behind her drink. 

With them though, was another man, one she did not know, a big man with a prominent nose. Despite his dark, slicked-back hair and expensive suit, he stood out in not the most pleasant way.

“Arya!” 

Theon’s shout drew everyone’s attention towards her as he smiled back, throwing an arm around Robb’s shoulder before kissing him. The response to their public displays were always rolling eyes.

Arya wrapped her arms around Jon’s neck, pulling him into a firm hug, feeling her feet leave the ground as he held her.

“I’ve missed you, little one,” Jon told her before setting her down, the smile on his face slowly faded as he stared back at her, “is everything alright?” This time his voice was little more than a whisper and the concern was clear on his face. Arya ignored his question, choosing to plaster a smile across her face and run into Robb’s arms where Theon still dangled.

“Theon, you get him plenty, he may be your fiancé but he’s still my brother,” Arya hoped her banter with Theon would remove Jon’s concerned gaze from her. 

As Robb held her, her eyes darted to Jon, seeing the indent between his brows that showed his frown. It was a good thing Jon was always frowning.

“What’s different with you?” Robb asked, still holding her close. Her breath hitched at his question. “Have you grown taller?” Relief flooded through Arya, she laughed it off, trading Robb in for a hug from Theon as well.

“Have you been looking after him?” Arya asked jokingly, “Or has he been looking after you?” 

“Oh, you can say it works both ways for us,” Theon laughed.

She scrunched her nose at his innuendo, deciding to finally introduce herself to the strange man who stood idly by Jon. 

“Arya,” she said, holding out a hand to him and straightening her posture. His gaze on her made her hair stand up in the most unpleasant way. He shook her hand a moment too long for it to be comfortable. There was something lecherous about the way he ogled her, it made her want to crawl into her own skin.

“Arya, meet Ramsay Bolton,” Robb interrupted, “his father works with dad. Ramsay’s staying with us whilst we’re here.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ramsay.”

“The pleasure is surely mine.”

Arya spun away to get herself a drink from the decanter that rested on the end table before taking a seat on one of the sofas.

“Do you know who we met on the drive here?” Robb asked her, his tone dripped with arch.

“Who?” Arya took a sip of her drink, watching Jon avoid her eyes.

“Gendry Waters.”

“Oh really?” Theon laughed at her response before taking a seat beside her.

“Is this the dark-haired boy we met?” Ramsay questioned.

“Yes, it is!” Robb seemed to be bursting at the seams with his joy, “And I invited him to dinner.” His gaze met her shocked one.

“What would you do that for?” Arya’s cool facade was broken by her sudden anger at Robb. 

“Well you two are friends aren’t you?” For once it seemed that Robb wasn’t entirely clueless, “Should give you plenty of time to catch up before he leaves.”

Arya’s rage simmered as she restrained herself from unleashing profanities onto Robb. Theon’s humour was clearly rubbing off on him at this point. 

* * *

The water was tepid at this point, he’d never been one for hot baths either but something about the lukewarm water still left him unsettled. 

Gendry ran his fingers through his wet hair, hand stopping midway, his concentration span seemed to be taking a hit any time it didn’t involve thinking about Arya; Arya standing before him, dripping and glistening like something out of his dreams. His shame made him sink further into the tub.

We watched as the smoke from his cigarette swirled away from him and tried his best to think of words, words to say to her, words to write to her, words to describe the way he yearned for her. It was all so difficult, she was always slipping out of his hands, feeling worlds away, even when she was in his arms.

Gendry sat up, water ran down his chest as he did so. He took another drag, looking through the opened door and to the typewriter at his desk and the porcelain handle that mocked him beside it.

He’d spent half an hour staring aimlessly at the typewriter. His hair was still wet, he hadn’t seen the need to dry himself off after his bath, only throwing on underwear before taking a seat in front of his desk. 

Half a dozen attempts later, he still couldn’t seem to unbosom himself onto paper. Each time a thought crossed his mind, he hovered his fingers onto the keys, only to have the thought stray away once more. 

Words easily came to him when he thought of how she looked earlier that day. How was he to face her, when all he could think about was that very image. Perhaps he shouldn’t have agreed to Robb’s invitation. The reluctance he had was met with a more consuming factor, he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t see her tonight if he didn’t tell her the thoughts that were so hard to unjumble in his mind.

Gendry leaned back against his wooden chair, his mind travelling to one thing again. His posture straightened and his fingers worked of his own accord.

_‘in my dreams, i kiss your cunt, your sweet wet cunt. in my thoughts, i make love to you all day long.’_

He pulled out the paper from where it rested in the typewriter, laughing at his foolishness for writing such a thing. Gendry folded the paper and set it aside then loaded another paper into his typewriter. When his fingers hovered by the keys for the hundredth time that day, he pulled out a fresh paper and an ink pen instead. _Perhaps writing would solve his impediment._

His pen printed out what his typewriter couldn’t, words that were hardly enough, but they were a start.

_‘dearest arya,_

_i don’t blame you for assuming i’ve gone mad- shattering your antique vase, or not even coming to you sooner._

_thing is, i feel rather light-headed and foolish in your presence, and i doubt i could blame the heat for it. will you forgive me?_

_love, gendry.’_

Satisfied with what he’d written, Gendry allowed the ink to dry and decided to finally dress for the dinner.

He found himself spending an outrageous amount of time polishing his shoes, his apprehension concerning Arya seemed to be draining his focus. 

As time flicked by and he managed to button his shirt, despite his shaking hands. His ebony hair was slicked back the best it could, loose locks still stubbornly stood out. 

Gendry stared at his reflection in the stained mirror, piercing blue eyes stared back. He knew he should’ve hurried up, that way he wouldn’t pick apart everything he did because that way something always went wrong… too much attention to detail ended up bringing the bigger picture out of focus.

His shoes tapped against the wooden floors of the cottage he once shared with his mother, but now he stayed alone in. Gendry placed the folded letter within an offwhite envelope that sat in one of the drawers of his desk and made his way out the door.

He followed the path that led to the manor, it was almost a road, with fences along either side to keep the wildness of nature from obstructing the road into the estate. The sun was making its way down the sky, still potent enough to bring additional heat to his state of nervousness.

He tapped the envelope incessantly against the palm of his hand, wanting it to disappear altogether. He didn’t particularly want to be around when Arya read it, there was something unsettling about the thought of handing it to her. Gendry found his opening in the form of the auburn-haired, Sansa.

Sansa was walking around the fields, tall blades of grass catching in her long dress, making it seem like it were floating behind her. 

Gendry leaned against the rickety fence and called out to her, “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the dinner?” His voice was loud enough to reach her, but not enough for her to understand.

She came floating closer, hands behind her back, posture always checked, something he noticed in Catelyn Stark as well.

“Did you say something?”

“I was wondering why you aren’t ready for your brothers’ dinner party yet.”

He noticed her silence as she studied him, “I wasn’t aware that you were invited,” her disapproving glare was always evident when it came to him, yet he did his best to always brush it aside.

“Robb,” he said, before realising his taciturnity wasn’t something she’d appreciate, “he invited me when we met earlier.”

“Ah, how sweet of him,” Sansa gave him a tight smile, it almost made him want to reconsider asking her a favour.

“Do you- d’you think you could give this to Arya for me?” He held the envelope to her, “Please?”

“Of course!” She took it from him without a second thought, already skipping away before he had a chance to say anything else. “I have to get ready now! See you later!” The diminuendo of her voice as she disappeared out of view seemed to still echo in his head.

It was when he’d lost sight of her, not knowing what shortcut she’d taken to get back to the manner, did he realise his obvious mistake.

The mistake that was in the envelope, the solution being the letter that remained on his desk, ink drying, beside his typewriter. 

Echoes of his stupidity rung in his head.

_your sweet wet cunt._

Despite knowing it was futile, Gendry ran the path towards the manor, hoping to catch Sansa before she’d handed the dim-witted excuse for a letter to Arya, or before she’d opened it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been in the works for so long now! i've been so excited to share it and cannot wait to know what you all think about it!  
> i want to give a big thanks to [yanak324](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanak324) for pushing me so much for this, [thelandofnothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelandofnothing/pseuds/thelandofnothing) and [aryasbadbenergy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryasbadbenergy/pseuds/aryasbadbenergy) for indulging in a shared atonement obsession.  
> lots of love x,  
> [fineosaur](https://fineosaur.tumblr.com)


	2. blood is red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Arya and Gendry confront their feelings only to be impeded once again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [trigger warning -- mentions of rape, i'll put asterisks by the scene so you know if you need to opt out or prepare yourself]

Arya sat at her vanity. She’d been dressed for hours now, but she was nowhere near ready, not when her mind continued to swirl with trepidation.

She stared at her reflection, occasionally marred by the smoke she exhaled. She’d applied and removed her red lipstick at least four times by now leaving a ring of scarlet around her cigarette, her lips feeling sensitive and looking pinker than usual. 

The dress she wore was a bit more daring than usual, she would never go for something so impractical, something held together by only a few strings. It was an emerald green dress, made of satin. It fell like water and it also clung to her as such. If she were to describe the back, she wouldn’t have words for it, since there was not much of it, only a few straps that came together. Her favourite part of the dress was that it would anger her sister and mother most.

Something stirred in her, a disquiet feeling that may have been linked to a pair of blue eyes and the way they had looked at her earlier that day. It was a warmth that flooded her, gathering at the pit of her stomach, quickening her pulse with every passing second, relentless and unwilling to give her composure.

Arya bit her lip unconsciously before standing up. Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror atop her mantlepiece, she wondered if her hair really was as unkempt as she was told it was. Instead, she straightened her posture and made her way to the drawing-room, where she knew her brothers would be. Her shoes hit the floor in the same pitter-patter as her heart, only amplifying her agitation.

The dress added a wispy air to her gait, she tried to forget about it, to not notice that it left little room for her to hide behind; tonight, just as the morning, she’d be on full display to Gendry. As much as she felt like she knew what this meant, she was still utterly unsure of what this would entail. She could hardly admit to herself, that she felt something for him that she couldn’t quite explain. She would call it love if she had something to compare it with. She’d felt love before, but it was a different love, a love a sister feels for her brother, what she felt for Gendry was nothing like this. The sentiment was there, but she felt it in different places than she did with family.

Arya entered the room, allowing her brothers to gush over her, it almost felt like too much, she wondered if it were forced. It was evident that she was one of the first ones down, given that in her view was only Jon, Theon, both with cigars and Robb who was at the piano, his fingers hitting the keys rather soothingly with a sporadic off-key note. 

She took a seat by Robb, he shifted to make space for her. They could hardly sync their playing, but it still took the edge off whatever it was that was causing her to sweat prematurely. She was sat beside him for only a short while until Theon had taken her hand, coercing her into dancing with him. 

It was barely dancing, more like a cross between a sway and a jaunt, either way, it was a burst of joy that she much needed however short-lived. 

She watched her sister walk in, trying to cover up the fact that she was breathing heavily under her poised bearing. She searched the room for a moment, Arya watched, no one other than her had noticed Sansa, her slightly dishevelled appearance and the fact that she wasn’t dressed yet. 

Theon spun her around, his loud gasp was a sign that he had finally noticed Sansa’s emergence. Arya heard the shift in keys as Jon took Robb’s place, a more solemn tune being played as compared to Robb’s more ebullient tones. She continued to sway gently in Theon’s arms, both of them distracted by the way Robb held Sansa tightly, lifting her off her feet as she giggled. He set her down, trading places with Theon as Sansa welcomed him with a chaste kiss. 

She could see the pride in Robb’s eyes as he looked at the two people he cared for, he didn’t seem to notice Sansa shove a slip of paper onto Arya’s chest. She held it, perplexed by the contents, slinking away towards the drink cart near the fireplace. 

It was as if her heart had cavorted and lodged itself in her throat, the words real and stark against the paper in her hand, there was no envelope, only a piece of paper.

_in my dreams, i kiss your cunt,_

She could barely comprehend as to why such a thing would be in Sansa’s hands, _she knew who had typed out the words._

_your sweet wet cunt._

Who else would it be, on a day where the morning had started off with her dripping wet and almost naked to the eyes of one particular man, one whom’s name was ricocheting in her head.

_in my thoughts, i make love to you all day long._

It was hard to stop the heat that rippled throughout her body, the thought of Gendry saying such a thing, it was hard not to have a reaction to it. But hard as it was, it was harder for her to look at Sansa and speak the words she was about to speak.

“Was there no envelope?” There was a clear crack it in Arya’s voice, she watched Sansa throw a pointed look at her, “Did you read it?” Her voice had gone up to a higher pitch than she had thought was ever possible.

Sansa looked at Robb and back at Arya “Of course,” it wasn’t clear if her sister was speaking to her or to her older brother, either way, Arya tried her best not to disappear into the ground, sure that her skin was painted red as her nails with the sheer mortification she felt. 

Arya folded the paper in her hands, despite the ringing in her head _‘your sweet wet cunt’,_ she closed her eyes, folding the paper once more, _‘in my thoughts, i make love to you all day long.’_ She folded the paper over and over until it was too small and too thick to fold. The words looped in her head, only to be cut off by Sansa’s voice, songlike as always.

“I’m off to get ready,” she walked backwards, blowing a kiss to her brothers, side-eyeing Arya before turning away. Ramsay Bolton walked in as she was leaving, she watched her sister straighten her posture, the chirp of her voice going off once more. “You must be Mr Bolton,” she held out her hand, not to be shaken or anything, “Sansa Stark.” She tipped her head slightly, ever the charmer, watching as the beady-eyed man brought his lips to Sansa's pale hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sansa, please call me Ramsay.”

Ramsay stepped aside, allowing Sansa to leave, fixing his cuffs, his cold blue eyes, piercing as they fixated on Arya, nothing like the sky blue she was accustomed to, the ones which left her floaty and tingly. She felt the need to cover herself under his gaze, it was unsettling. The sight of his grin made her nails dig into her palms. 

_She needed to breathe, she needed to cool down._

Without warning, Arya left the room, her feet taking her away on their own accord, leading to one place she knew she’d find peace. 

* * *

She was usually able to rein in her thoughts, the ones that unfolded with time, they were usually not this insistent. This particular thought was different, it left her sick, fuming and focused on seeing some justice for its disruption of her musings.

She was sat upon her bed, the metal frame cold against the back of her arm. She was dressed and yet she didn’t want to get up any time soon. Her auburn tresses wove between her fingers as she fidgeted, trying to occupy her coursing mind. 

Sansa knew she should have gathered herself by now, it was just so haunting, to think she was to sit normally as her sister and the servant boy danced alongside one another so indecently. She had read the awful letter he had given her, he smiled as he handed it to her, a stutter in his voice as he asked her to give it to Arya, to _her younger sister._

He was clearly perverse to think he could hand her such a lecherous note and try to play it off so innocently. Her heart thrummed in her chest. She should have known something like this would happen, she’d seen them in the morning, the way he ordered Arya around, the way he stared at her wet out from the fountain’s cool waters. Why would her sister listen to him — why would she allow him to see her in such vulgarity and play along with it? Perhaps her sister was just as twisted… she never understood why Arya allowed herself to fraternise with someone like him. 

She had ripped open the envelope as soon as she was able to when she knew Gendry was out of sight and unable to stop her, she had hurried through the wooded path she had crossed for years, a shortcut she had come by when following her older brothers. her feet stilled their movement across the forest floor when her eyes skimmed over the short sentence. Her stomach dropped, her heartbeat was louder than any of her thoughts and yet she read the words, the depraved words. 

_in my dreams, i kiss your cunt, your sweet wet cunt. in my thoughts, i make love to you all day long._

She had felt her legs almost give out under her, the shock of it all. It seemed, now that the words were still playing over in her head, she was still not able to lift herself up. And yet somehow she had made it out of the clearing and towards her home, not taking the time to realise how hard her heart was beating in her chest, how she was gasping for air, she just needed to be rid of the paper that seemed to be staining her hands.

Now Sansa sat on her bed, draped restlessly, her room was already darker, the sun was setting steadily against the horizon, the sky’s painted colours had no effect on the unrest on her soul. 

Her hands went down to the ties of her dress, left undone and at her side. They slid against her fingers, the friction of the chiffon on the pads of her fingers as they fell to her bed. she huffed, preparing herself to face the world before the sound of someone entering her room brought her eyes up, tearing her gaze away from the pale blue of her dress against the florals of her bed.

“Is everything alright?” Sansa’s voice felt rusty and unused. She cleared her throat, “Is something wrong, Jeyne?” her friend’s steps were sedated as if she were walking carefully on stilts. The red rings around her eyes vitiated her smooth pale complexion.

Jeyne sighed, folding her hands under the skirt of her dress before taking a seat on Sansa’s bed, “I’m fine,” Jeyne’s brown eyes refused to meet hers as her hands continued to pat down her dress. “I’m just a little tired is all.”

“Are you sure?” It was clear that it was the brine of the eyes that caused such disruption, not the lack of sleep. “Have you not been sleeping well — do you miss home?” 

Jeyne only nodded, she didn’t utter a word, like perhaps if allowed herself to do so, only sobs would come out and the tears she was holding back would cascade down her cheeks uninterrupted. 

“How ‘bout I tell you something?”

Her friend’s hair tossed as she looked at Sansa, no longer dodging her gaze. She seemed to be craving a distraction for whatever was going on in her head. her arms were crossed against her chest, hands tucked away from view.

“You must promise not to tell anyone,” Jeyne nodded impatiently, “I feel sick even saying this but I need to tell someone. It's about that boy, Gendry.”

* * *

Arya had wanted her feet to take her to the library immediately, yet she’d lingered, she’d seen his figure, shoulders prominent in his suit jacket, hair being brushed back with his large hands as he seemingly tried to catch his breath. 

There were no words to describe how he looked. She routinely saw him covered in grime, working, shirt sleeves rolled halfway up his arms to keep them out of the way. His hair, slicked back though it seemed to be stubborn as he was himself, slowly falling back into place. 

He was an Adonis in all ways but now before her, he straightened his posture as he noticed her, his gaze searing and unabating. The smell of his soap and cologne wafted towards her as he slowly approached, steady steps which faltered as he stared back at her, his blue eyes meeting hers, mercury melting in his view, suddenly abashed, stripped of all former confidence. 

Arya could feel his eyes roaming, it was impossible that he managed to make her feel so comfortable in her satin skin underneath his eyes, and yet despite it, she still felt her pulse quickening. She felt drawn to him, it was hypnotic how a few written words could affect her so when it came to those piercing blue eyes which had no excuse being so warm and inviting.

She watched Gendry open his mouth, on the precipice of saying what was on his mind, only to stop himself. His hand passed through his hair once more, weaving through the dark locks before settling against the back of his neck. 

“Sansa read it,” Arya watched him wince, he was already well aware of what she spoke of and yet she felt the need to reiterate herself. “Your letter, she read it… it was-“

“It was the wrong one,” Gendry interrupted, he walked closer towards her, the blacks of his shoes shining in the dimming light. “You weren’t supposed to read that one.”

“Well, what was the right one?” Arya took a few steps backwards, her eyes soaked up his figure, his suit doing nothing to hide his strong form. 

“For starters, it was a lot more eloquent,” her feet seemed to be pick up from where they had left on, guiding her towards the library as she had initially planned. “a lot less vulgar.” his last words were mumbled but she still heard it, his chuckle afterwards only confirmed his nervous state. 

She didn’t answer as she walked away from him. she didn’t bother looking back at him, she knew he was trailing behind her, it was invigorating. Her dress picked up like a breeze, she was the tide and she was luring him back into the water with her. 

Arya reached the library, her adrenaline carrying her towards the mahogany desk that sat in the middle of the room. She heard Gendry close the door behind him when he entered, the sound sinking heavily within her as the sound of her heartbeat masked it and droned on. 

Arya flicked on the desk light beside her, seeing that Gendry was only arm’s length away from her.

“I wanted to apologise for this morning,” Gendry sighed, his hands in his pockets as he loomed closer to her, he was still tucked away. “Truth is, Arya… you- you drive me mad. I can’t seem to-” He laughed lightly at himself as he shook his head, his hands freed themselves from the confines of his pockets and he rubbed the palm of his hand against his jaw, “I feel quite light-headed around you and I seem to be making a fool of myself around you. I can hardly blame the heat for any of it, it’s just you.” He gestured towards her, his tone was withering, dwindling as his expression seemed to be that of disbelief. Disbelief in himself.

Arya stared up at him as he got closer, the desk behind her was supporting most of the weight her legs clearly could not. 

“I don't- how am I meant to respond to something like that,” Arya wanted to reach out to him, instead she clutched her hand to her chest, watching the worry spread across his face. She let out an exasperated sigh, turning away to the walls lined with books, trying to calm her weary heart. how much more could it take, it seemed to be beating rapidly all day, the apprehension of it all doing nothing to help.

She studied the gilt lettering on the spines of the books that lined the shelves, though none of the names registered, her mind was too occupied with other things.

“Arya.”

She turned to face him, feeling her legs close to giving in as he got closer to her. Summer had nothing to do with the way her skin burned under his blue gaze. Her inner sigh left her feeling breathless, her head felt like it could no longer be supported by her neck, she found herself leaning heavily on the wooden frame of the stacked bookshelf.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Arya,” his voice coated her like a layer of honey, she felt viscous in his presence, it was almost lethargic moulded with a sense of vertigo. His hand reached out to tuck a lock of her short hair behind her ear, “I like your hair.”

It was instantaneous, the way she took his face in her hand and pulled him in her bubble, bringing his lips to meet hers. If his words were sweet, they were nothing like the nectar on his lips. Arya felt him relax into the kiss, his hands finally wandering across the surface his eyes so hungrily glazed. He held onto her tightly, his hand tilting her head further, only to have his tongue graze hers. 

Arya’s soft moan was muffled by his lips, drowned out by his tongue against hers, she held onto his wrists, his hands cradled her neck. his attentiveness was endearing, especially when she was so sure that she was to be piqued by his existence this morning. And now, now she was safely in his arms. She clung onto him as he propped her up against the shelves behind her, leverage so as not to strain both their necks so much.

She pulled away for a moment, catching his darkened gaze, “Gendry,” she breathed out.

“I want you- _I need you, Arya_ ,” he pushed her hair out of her face, cradling her face softly before kissing the corner of her mouth, his lips descending to her neck, the feeling of his kisses on her throat, she could barely think straight.

“Gendry,” his eyes met hers again as he listened to what she had to say. her hand slid down his chest, buttons of his shirt catching against her fingers as her hands travelled south to settle on the waistband of his slacks. articulation of her words were unnecessary, he understood. 

* * *

He was not prepared for much else when he had come to a halt by the entrance of the manor. The architecture was remarkable, chiselled columns, supporting beams and an array of wide stone steps that lead towards the carved doors. When Arya came into view, it was clear that he was surely not prepared. 

She was a vision, part of him had completely forgotten why he was so out of breath, perhaps his loss of air was because he was winded by her appearance. her dress did little to calm the salacious thoughts that had been plaguing his mind all day. The verdant satin sat upon her skin much like her wet shift had, disappointingly this time it was not transparent. 

Slowly as his feet let him towards her, realisation dawned on him, the silhouette of his stupidity made it hard to slow down the thrum of his heart. She was beautiful, despite the galled look that crossed her face. 

How he had managed to form any coherent sentences with her standing in front of him in that dress when all he could imagine was trailing a finger up the fabric. Wondering if it would feel cool and as fluid as it looked. He wondered what would happen if he hooked his thumb under the strap upon her shoulder and lowered it, of course, he’d promise to make up for the loss of clothing with kisses. 

He had managed to follow her, it was not hard when it felt like he was sinking underneath the ripples of the train of her dress. There was surely a rope around him, one which she dragged him by, for there was no way he could be this entranced by just one woman. Arya wasn’t just any woman to him, she was everything that mattered to a man like him.

Now, here he was, Arya, molten in his grasp, tightly held against him as he kissed her without restraint. 

She thawed under his touch, soft moans released with every kiss, hungrily painted on the canvas of her smooth skin. Gendry had been vocal of his need for her, he was completely sincere, in some form or another, the overwhelming need for her seemed to consume him bit by bit, only to be placated with her touch, the sound of her voice and the feeling of her as close as he could get her. 

Arya however not as emphatic as him, still felt the same, he could read it in her eyes, the need was there, engulfed, phases of the moon in her eyes, waning restraint. _Arya wanted him too and she let him know it._

Gendry held her, Arya was in his arms, a leg securely around his waist as he hitched her up against the endless bookshelves, he could tell that both their hearts were beating rapidly in tandem. 

He kissed her again, his hand caressing her back, feeling one of the smooth straps of her dress fall against his thumb. he still held her tightly, tenderly, never wanting her to slip through his hands again. His hand swept down her back, gliding against her dress until he met the smooth skin of her leg.

His light touches did nothing to mask the vehemence of his actions. He was intent on having her feel his desire for her, not only carnal but the deep devotion that she seemed to inspire in him.

He pulled away from her, watching the smile that spread over her lips, a soft laugh shared between them made him even more certain that he had fallen too deep to dare think of getting out of this. 

Arya pulled him in this time, nipping his bottom lip as his hand travelled up her thigh, warmly under her dress. His blunt nails caressed her skin, tugging at her underwear the gesture bringing Arya’s hands to his waistcoat. Just having her hands on him made his head spin, his whole body heat in various ways he hardly thought were possible.

Arya’s moans were delicate by his ear, her hands in his hair were a vice, grounding him in the reality of what was going on between them. as he swept between her legs, starting from her thighs to her cunt, _her wet cunt_ , slick on his fingers. He’d gone back and forth between her folds, luxuriating in the sounds she made. 

He would have continued for longer, especially when he felt her leg grow tighter around his waist as his fingers delved deep within her, with each stroke a plead in the form of his name. Her hands were deliberate and hurried when she reached to unbutton his trousers, her hand disappearing down the front of them, leaving him unprepared for how it felt to have her touch him. 

He groaned loudly, far too loud for where they were, it was not exactly a prime spot for what they were doing. But she overwhelmed his senses, as she always did. She continued, her hand still down the front of his pants, he could hardly let her continue, not when he wanted this to be a moment they shared together.

Gendry moved his hand to cradle the small of her back, cool fabric of her dress against his palm. He angled her best he could, aligning himself, trying his best not to be hasty despite every part of his body needing the jolt.

He thrusted into her, hearing the dull thud of her head hitting the shelf behind her as her hands softly grasped his hair. Her moans were heady, he couldn’t focus on anything but her in his arms and hoping to hear the melody of her breath forever. 

He had kissed her, a more subdued one than all of the eager ones before. He pulled away, watching the flutter of her lids before they revealed her gaze. There was nothing like looking into the eyes of the woman he loved only to feel that love reciprocated.

“Arya,” she stared back at him, searching his face for what he had to say, “I love you.”

She bit her lip, holding back her smile before allowing herself to grin properly, “I love you too, Gendry,” her giggle was cut off by her moan.

He brought his lips to hers, kissing her profusely, savouring the words they had just exchanged.

Arya’s hand refused to leave his hair, her nails would occasionally scrape against his scalp, her other hand, however, trailed down his coat, starting at his padded shoulders, looming down to his waist. He blamed the echoes of her dripping wet and glistening, for the way he took hold of her hand, pinning it above her head as he thrusted into her cunt, harder than before. 

Their fingers were interlaced, hands holding tightly onto one another. his eyes met hers for a moment before kissing her throat, groaning in the hollow of her neck. His instincts now taking control of himself, throwing him into a rhythm that left him breathless and Arya writhing underneath him.

“Gendry,” she breathed out.

“Arya-” his voice was raspy and strained, he was being held together by a fraying seam. 

Her body heaved only to still abruptly, “Someone’s coming,” she whispered. It was hard to exercise restraint when he was so close, so close to reaching the pinnacle of their tryst. Trying his best not to lose the diluting grip he had on his sanity; somewhere teetering between the emboldening feeling of Arya’s proximity and the also dizzying effect it had on him. 

As the door creaked open, they remained intertwined, Gendry still sheathed inside her. Their heavy breathing did nothing to help in their stealth, they would most definitely be found. _And they were._

His back faced whoever it was that entered, soft steps hitting the carpeted floor of the library, closing in on them. of course, it was too good to be true that they would be allowed a moment together, _why had he waited so long to come to her?_

“Arya?” the voice was Sansa’s, a clear crack in her tone as if she were crying. “What is he doing -“ she was interrupted by her own sob.

He and Arya remained silent, unable to move. Without a word, they worked on detangling themselves from one another, it proved to be harder than he imagined, neither of them on any level to retain any kind of composure. 

He set Arya down onto her feet, watching her exhale in an effort to keep her cool. He was entranced, watching her pat down her hair and smooth her dress. 

She ghosted her hand over his chest, no time for any lingering touches. He stared at the books in front of him, tucking his shirt properly, buttoning his trousers before buttoning his suit jacket as well. 

Gendry took a deep breath before passing a hand through his hair, swiftly making his exit, doing well to avoid Sansa’s gaze, eyes catching only the pale blue of her dress. 

He reached the door, he stood motionless for a second, few things running through his head, none of which were feasible in this situation. He left, not daring to brave a look towards Sansa, only following Arya as they made their way into the dining room.

* * *

Arya still felt unsteady on her feet. Trying her best to keep her eyes open despite the residual flutter she had in her core. The subsequent events that unfolded since Gendry appeared at the door had left her disoriented. 

The thought of Gendry’s lips on hers brought a smile to her face, the way his hands felt against her skin, that was different. The feeling of them both melded with one another, it added fire to the already torrid sensation in the pit of her stomach, reaching places even lower than that.

She released a few breaths, trying to steady her breathing. Sansa had seen them. Her sister had already been hounding her as of late and this only gave her yet another thing to pester her about. It left her heart beating with anxiety, agitation she should not have been feeling at this moment, not when Gendry had said he loved her, not when they had just shared a moment in orbit, finally colliding with one another.

Arya heard his steps following her, throwing a glance over her shoulder to see his tall frame. They would talk more, she knew they would, now that they had professed their feelings, there would be less of a wall between them.

Taking a seat by Jon, Arya smiled softly at Gendry taking the chair by her side. She saw the look on Sansa’s face, the one that expressed her disdain, one more prominent than ever before. Arya eluded Sansa’s eyes, seeing that Gendry was doing the same but perhaps more out of mortification than her own slightly fearful reasons.

Conversation flowed freely, Arya put thoughts of her sister’s prying habits aside and enjoyed the company of her brothers and the hand that caressed hers. 

Gendry’s fingers reached for hers underneath the table, occasionally his calloused palm would graze her leg, skin bare from the opening slit of her dress. It was hard to concentrate on the conversation at hand when he was doing unspeakable things to her sanity.

“What do you think, Ar?” Theon’s voice interrupted her indecorous train of thought. 

She looked up, pursing her lips and humming in question, “Hmm?”

“Theon asked if you believe the heat makes you behave badly?” Jon said, laughing as he brought a glass of water towards his lips.

“You know I don’t need an excuse for that, don’t you, Theon?” She answered, smirking at Theon, yet her hand moved to Gendry’s thigh.

“What about you Sansa?” Theon raised an eyebrow at Sansa, “Done anything particularly naughty lately?” He earned a smack against his arm from Robb.

Her expression remained neutral, “ _I_ have done nothing wrong. I think it silly to blame something as superficial as the weather for your own misgivings.”

Arya would have rolled her eyes if her mother wasn’t staring at her. She watched her mother, stern blue eyes searching for something. 

“So Gendry, the Citadel, exciting is it?” Robb’s voice was always one of a charmer.

“Most definitely is,” Arya had never known Gendry to be anything other than reticent, but his willingness to appear completely calm despite her hand in his was at least admirable.

“Six years is a long time.”

“I expect it is,” Gendry nodded.

“Arya, where are your brothers?” Her mother interrupted, her raised tone was not one to ever argue with.

“I haven’t seen them,” she turned her head to watch her father walk in, his posture hunched and his eyes tired. “Maybe dad saw them?”

“Of course he hasn’t, he’s been in that study of his all day,” Catelyn’s voice was spitting, “Sansa will you please go get Brandon and Rickon, see what on earth could be taking them so long?”

Sansa rose from her seat, her departure seemed to settle Arya slightly. 

“Jeyne, do you know when we should be expecting from your father?” Ned’s voice was heard for the first time that night and Jeyne looked somewhat frightened to be spoken to. She could barely talk without hyperventilating.

“Well-“ she had begun to answer only to be cut off by Sansa theatrical reappearance.

“We found this letter!” Arya’s heart must have sunk straight to the ground whilst simultaneously drumming in her ears. Bran trailed alongside Sansa, his sheepish look said that he knew something about what was going on. “He’s gone.” She handed the paper to her father who sighed heavily, the whole world seemed to be weighing down on him.

Arya threw Gendry a relieved look, seeing that he might have gotten the same idea as her, that perhaps Sansa would out them with a show, flinging his debauched letter around for all to see.

“Brandon, what do you know of this?” Catelyn scolded, tearing the letter from her husband’s grasp.

“What is it, mother?” Robb asked, his eyes searching for an answer as he held onto Theon’s hand that laid on the dining table.

“Brandon!” 

Bran mumbled, staring at his feet as he answered unintelligibly.

“Speak up.”

“What is it, lad?” Jon coaxed, trying a less obtrusive approach.

“Shaggydog ran away again,” he started, his voice small.

“Louder.”

“You told Rickon you would get rid of Shaggy if he ran away again, so he went after him,” Bran admitted.

“Alone?!” Catelyn’s voice brought them all to fear her in times of anger. “You let him go out into the woods _alone_ and didn’t think to _tell anyone?”_

“Now Cat, go easy on him,” Ned finally intervened, “Bran, come ‘ere.” He held out a hand to the boy. “Can you tell any of us how long he’s been gone or where he might have gone?” Bran nodded, looking frightened and clearly unaware of the gravity of the situation.

“We must try to search for him, it’s already dark, God knows where he might have ended up,” Ramsay’s voice brought all the attention to him as he stood up. Robb blinked at him for a few seconds, holding Theon’s hand tightly.

“Of course,” Jon agreed, “Arya, c’mon we’ll get some torches, stay with me.” 

She remained silent, glancing towards Gendry in disappointment, not realising Jon was awaiting her answer and company, “Yes, of course, sorry,” she reluctantly pulled herself away from him and followed Jon.

Arya knew Jon was planning on grilling her with probing questions. Everyone else might have been clueless to her ordeals but Jon, Jon had always been one to notice things. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s got you all flustered tonight?” Jon began, handing her a torch, the thing was heavy and cold in her grasp.

“Whatever do you mean?” She feigned a smile at him, she wondered if it showed that it took all her restraint not to check him with the head of her torch.

“You,” he stated, “you and Gendry. Beginning of today you couldn’t stand the thought of him coming for dinner and now you’re all longing glances and lingering touches?” 

“Do we not have more important things to focus on?” 

“This does seem pretty important.”

“Oh, and not the fact that our baby brother is missing?” 

“You’re avoiding-“

“I’m prioritising!” Arya walked faster, though Jon’s long legs would easily catch up with her, she needed him to be behind her right now, she would implode if anything else happened tonight, why could it not just be a peaceful, uneventful day?

The grassy plains were a lot more solemn at this time of day. The moon illuminated the dark panorama with an eerie glow. The heat of the day was no longer in play, only the brisk, cool air that raised the hair on her arms and made it explicitly clear that she was not dressed to be out at this time, which worried her, Rickon was out here, alone.

Jon caught up with her, propping his jacket on her cold shoulders. Her willful self refused to thank him despite tugging the coat around her.

“Fine,” the grass beneath their shoes rustled with each step, “I met someone.” 

Arya halted, unable to stay hostile at his confession. She allowed herself to smile, knowing he wouldn’t see it in the dark. She didn’t answer him, but at least chose to listen and slowed down her steps to keep in with his pace. 

The air had a cold smell to it if that were possible. It was a fresh smell, with the addition of the breeze, it left them in suspension, trying not to think too hard on whether Rickon was safe. 

“I’d love for you to meet him. He’s heard so much about you, he practically already knows you.”

She could tell Jon was mostly talking to help ease her worry, as well as his own. So she let him drone on, storing all that he was conveying and knowing to properly discuss it all when things weren’t so glum.

* * *

*******

After searching aimlessly through the dark, Arya walked with Jon by her side, towards the entrance of their home. The initial shock of seeing unfamiliar cars parked haphazardly in the entryway was not as alarming as the revelation that they were, in fact, police vehicles. 

Arya threw Jon’s coat back at him, making a run towards the scene. Sansa seemed to be crying in her mother’s arms as one of the officers questioned her.

“Is it Rickon- is he hurt?” Arya felt Robb take her in his arms, she looked up at his eyes, filled with worry, as his auburn curls fell into his face.

“Rickon’s fine, he’s sleeping upstairs,” his voice was quiet, soft as if he were trying his best to soothe her.

She looked around, not understanding why everything was going wrong then, if Rickon was fine why was there melancholy hanging in the air?

“Then why-“ 

“Robb, please take her inside, Jon please,” her mother interrupted her, gesturing at the two of them, still holding Sansa by her side.

“Come,” Robb ushered her inside, his insistent hand on her back. She glanced over her shoulder, watching Jon hang back as he walked towards their father, who was standing by, listening to what Sansa was saying between sobs.

“Robb,” they’d made their way into the drawing-room. She coaxed his hand off her, looking at him, hoping he’d answer her with sincerity.

“Have you seen Gendry?” The concern on his face was evident.

“No, I was with Jon,” her tone was that of confusion, none of it made sense, _why was he asking about Gendry?_ The warm lights of the room started taking an effect on her, she was sure the pounding in her head was from something other than a headache. “Did something happen to him? Is he alright?” _She really needed a cigarette._

“Arya…” She inspected the room around her, seeing only Jeyne’s sleeping form on the sofa and Theon sitting by her. Her tear-streaked face looked to be asleep.

“What’s wrong with Jeyne?” She walked towards the sofa, taking in the bruises that stained her wrists and the redness of her usually pale porcelain complexion. “Did she get hurt — is that why the police are here?” Arya looked back at Robb, trying her best to whisper in an effort not to awake the girl.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to tell you, Arya.”

“Who hurt her?” Arya felt her heart pick up its speed.

“Gendry did,” Robb tucked his hair behind his ear and stared at her, his blue worry-filled eyes meeting hers.

“What-“ she took a step back away from Robb, taking her arm out of his gentle grip, “what are you talking about Robb?”

He took her by her arm again, leading her away from Jeyne and Theon, “Gendry, he- I’m sorry, Arya. Sansa caught him and Jeyne… he assaulted her.”

Arya felt fire, the anger burning in her face, she felt in the way her heart pounded. “He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that,” she felt the hot tears roll down her face, “you don’t know what you’re talking about, you’ve got it wrong.” 

She pulled herself out of his grasp, racing back out of the house, hearing Robb follow behind her, shouting her name.

Arya felt the breeze hit her skin once more but not feeling any of the cold. Her eyes searched for her mother and sister once more, seeing the halo of light surrounding them.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She addressed her sister, whose arm she had just yanked. Arya knew she was shouting, her voice was probably loud, she could hear that it was loud, but she was sure she had dissociated from the part of her that was at all coherent because everything sounded like the reflection of an echo.

“Arya!” Her mother came between them, forcing Arya to let go of Sansa.

“Do you not see what she’s doing?” Arya’s tone remained raised. “She’s _lying_ , can’t you tell?”

Sansa sobbed, “It’s all right, Arya, you don’t have to lie for him anymore.”

“What are you going on about?” Her shriek was piercing, everything was crumbling down.

“I told them what he did to you. He did the same to Jeyne, don’t you see?” Sansa cried louder as her voice wobbled.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she saw him coming into view, slowly on the path that led to the house. She wanted to scream to him, to warn him not to come back, to run away. “These are people’s lives, Sansa. Don’t you see what you’re doing?” 

She ran towards him, seeing him come into view, his shirt sleeves rolled up like they usually were, his coat in his arm and, by his side on a chain, was Shaggydog. He looked confused, despite it he smiled at her. She watched his face fall as he noticed the tears on her face, the distress in the way she said his name.

“Gendry…” 

He let go of the leash, the young greyhound running towards Jon.

“Gendry, I’m sorry,” she ran into his arms, holding onto him tightly, breathing in the smell of him as she cried. 

It wasn’t clear if she was crying out of misery or if she was so furious that she could no longer hold it all in. 

Jon tried to pry her off of Gendry, though she fought him off as two officers tried to take hold of Gendry.

“Arya?” His eyebrows knitted in fury, in confusion as he called out to her.

When Jon finally got hold of her, she wrestled free, running back towards Gendry. His arms were folded behind him by the officers who droned on, words she could no longer hear.

She clung to him, her arms thrown around his neck. “I love you, Gendry,” she told him, her voice had become so small but she knew he had heard her. _“Come back to me.”_

Arya allowed herself to be taken away by Jon, whose arm circled her waist, dragging her aside. She watched Gendry, pressed against the hood of one of the cars, his eyes bored into hers, he had heard her, she knew he would listen. 

They would be together again, she knew it. But for now, she let her body sag in Jon’s arms as she screamed or cried, perhaps both. 

It was when her mother put a hand on her shoulder, that was when she decided to pick herself up. She shoved everyone aside and got to her feet, no longer kneeling on the stone steps. 

She made her way straight to Sansa. Arya had never felt anger like this, _“I am fucking done with you,”_ her voice wasn’t even loud, but her tone was so deep and hoarse, she barely recognised her own voice as she pointed directly at Sansa’s still streaming face. 

Arya walked towards her room, for the last time that night, the train of her dress carried her away, the events of the day sinking in and leaving a permanent mark on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would love some feedback on this work, feel free to leave a comment here or on my tumblr.
> 
> [fineosaur](https://fineosaur.tumblr.com)
> 
> come say hi x


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